Miles to Go Before I Sleep
by NoCleverSig
Summary: Helen rids John of his demon, but finding their way back to one another will be harder than either one of them could ever imagine. This is the first story in the "No Destination in Mind" series. WARNING: I've changed this to "Teen" but 1 paragraph is M.


**Rating: **I rated this story "adult" only because of one paragraph. But better safe than sorry...**  
Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters. I only play with them. My words, however, are my own.**  
Note: **This is the first story in a series I'm calling **"No Destination in Mind".** It is loosely a sequel to The Devil and Dr. Magnus, but you don't have to read it first. In fact, I hope you don't. This takes place after Haunted and assumes Nikola Tesla willing helped Magnus free John of his demon. But not all is love and roses, my friends...angst ahead, romance will follow. Hang with me. Peace. NCS

**Miles to Go Before I Sleep  
****(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)**

Helen Magnus sat on the edge of her couch, head leaning on her hand, absently watching the crackling fire. She was on her third glass of wine, an extravagance for her, purposefully letting her mind float along with each sip of the warm, smooth liquid. It was 3 a.m. Even by her standards, it was late. But she couldn't sleep. Not tonight. Not with what had happened.

She'd saved him. After over a century of trying and failing, loving and hating, dreaming and then ultimately giving up, she and Nikola Tesla had saved John Druitt. Released him from his demon. And now he lay downstairs sedated, at peace for the first time in decades, while she sat upstairs awake, her mind in utter turmoil.

The age old adage, "Be careful what you wish for…," ruefully sprung to mind.

How many years had she dreamt of this? And over the past eight weeks, since she'd discovered it was an energy creature that was the cause of his fury, she'd been a woman possessed, working constantly, finally with Nikola's help, to draw the creature out of Druitt and contain it. And it had worked. The project had succeeded. The creature had been removed. It was gone. He was alive. And he was free.

And she? She was frozen. So shaken by the sudden shift in her world, she sat here dulling her senses, completely at a loss for what to do next.

It wasn't the reaction she had expected from herself, the ever self-assured Helen Magnus, but then again, regarding John, she had never been on firm footing.

Each time she had attempted to cure him, her entire focus had been on healing his madness and never on what would happen next should she succeed. Partially her actions were born out of obligation, a sense of responsibility and remorse for her part in his crimes, for giving him the blood that had provided him the power that fueled his rage. Partially her efforts emanated from nostalgia, for memory of a man she once knew, a man she would have married, made a family with, a home.

But if she dug down deep, very deep within herself, she would admit that part of it was still love. And that realization frightened her beyond words.

Measured by the span of her life time, she had known and loved John Druitt for just a fraction of time. But Jack the Ripper? Jack she had feared and hated for more than a century.

How did she even begin to know John again, let alone love him? Was it even possible? Was it even wise?

When John awoke earlier, when he realized his demon was gone, he'd asked if he could stay for a time, converse with her awhile. After all he'd been through, all that had happened, how could she deny him? She doubted he had elsewhere to go.

But after 130 years of fearing him, running from him, protecting Ashley from him when she was alive to be protected, where did they even begin?

"Magnus?"

She turned at the sound of Will Zimmerman's soft voice and smiled at him. "You're up late," she said.

He stuck his hands in his jeans. "Pot, kettle," he replied teasingly to her.

"Come, sit," she told him, patting the cushion next to her. "Would you like some wine?"

He sat down, accepting her invitation and glanced at the very empty bottle of Malbec beside her and shook his head.

"You don't usually drink this late or this much," he remarked, trying to keep it casual.

"No," she said. "I don't."

"Celebrating?" he asked, searching her face for a clue to her thoughts, her mood.

"Honestly?"

"Always," he answered.

"Hiding," she admitted. Will waited for her to continue, to set the pace. Magnus wasn't a woman who opened up easily.

Perhaps it was the wine speaking. Or perhaps she simply needed to talk it out. But he could tell from her invitation to join her that she needed something tonight, foremost a friend. And that he could do without effort.

"I don't know where to start, Will," she said softly, caressing her empty glass and sounding more uncertain than he had ever heard her.

"Start with what?" he urged, trying to understand what it was she was feeling, fearing.

"With John. I don't know where to start or if I have the strength to try," she hesitated, and then looked at him. "I've dreamt of this moment for over a century. Freeing John from his madness. Regaining the man I loved. And now that it's done…," she stopped, her voice breaking. "I realize I don't know him at all, and I don't know how to begin."

Her tears fell silently. She was exhausted, confused, overwhelmed, and, perhaps, just a little drunk.

Will scooted closer and put his arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder, letting go of her defenses. A rare display.

"Not everything's a puzzle to be solved, Magnus, you know that. Some things…some things are just journeys to be taken."

She laughed lightly against his shoulder. "You sound like the Dalai Lama." He could feel her smile against his shoulder.

"No, if I sounded like the Dalai Lama, I would talk like this," he said, putting on a fake Tibetan accent.

She laughed again. It's what he was hoping for.

"You know it's true," he said.

He could feel her nod her head in agreement. "I do, Will. But I'm afraid," she said, sounding so unlike herself, so small. "Afraid of where this particular journey might lead me. Afraid of where it might not." She paused, taking in a shaky breath. "I can't think of a time in recent memory, except of course when I lost Ashley…," she trailed off, "when I felt quite so confused."

He tightened his grip on her and turned his head into her hair. "Give it time," he whispered. "Just give yourself time."

She pressed herself tighter against him, her eyes closed, feeling sleep finally beckon. "That is something I do have in abundance."

* * *

She watched Druitt as he slept in the infirmary. It was early. She'd insisted he stay there overnight, just in case. She wasn't fearful of the energy creature. That, she was sure, was gone and contained, thanks to Nikola. But to make it happen, John's heart rate had been slowed to the point of cardiac arrest. In short, he had died, and she had brought him back to life. Again. A trauma like that, even for a man as strong as John, could have dire consequences.

Big Guy had monitored him during the night and reported back to her. Blood pressure, heart rate, everything had been normal. _Normal_. A day ago that would have been the last word she would have used for this man.

She walked in quietly, trying not to wake him, white coat on and dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. Establishing, quite intentionally, a distance between the two of them. Doctor and patient. Nothing more. She picked up his chart and scanned it, looked up at the monitors.

"Well Doctor," John said, his deep voice startling her. "Will I live?" he asked, smiling up at her.

She smiled back quickly, clutching the chart to her chest. "I'd say the prognosis is excellent. How do you feel, John?"

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Like I haven't felt in over 100 years. I don't think I've slept so soundly since I was a child, Helen."

She smiled at him again. "I'm glad." She hesitated, not sure how he'd react to her next request. "I'd like you to remain here a few days, if you don't mind. Just to keep an eye on you, make sure there are no unforeseen repercussions. We'll move you to one of our guest rooms so you'll be more comfortable. Is there anything you need us to retrieve from where you were living? Clothes? Personal items?"

He looked at her, a wistful smile crossing his lips. "If you're asking me if I have a home, Helen, I do not. I've spent my existence traveling from place to place taking what I need when I need it, and never staying long enough to acquire…things," he answered softly. "So, no, Helen. I have nothing to retrieve, but thank you for asking."

His answer made her heart break. She'd known what her life had been like in the intervening years without him, but she'd given far less consideration to what life must have been like for him. He'd told her once in anger that he'd,"…been alone, wandering this god-forsaken world, wanting only peace, a fragment of what they'd had." She closed her eyes, and swallowed, about to say what would previously have been unthinkable to her.

"John, you're welcome to remain here as long as you like. Please know that."

He looked at her, silent for a moment. "Considering what I've put you through over the years, my dear, I am humbled by your hospitality."

Ever the gentleman, John. She nodded. "I'll get Henry to set up a guest room for you. He can drive you into the city later, get you whatever personal items you might need."

"I can still teleport, Helen. I haven't lost that power, have I?"

"No," she shook her head. "But honestly, I'd prefer if you wait until you've started the treatments I've prepared," she said. "The medication should block any creature from latching onto you while your molecular structure changes, but I'd like you to be on it awhile, at least a few days, perhaps even a few weeks, before you try to teleport again. There's no point in taking unnecessary risks," Helen finished.

He looked at her, his thoughts elsewhere. "No. No need to take risks," he agreed.

She nodded again. "Very well. I'll have some breakfast brought down and then Henry will come and see you to your room. He can take you into the city this afternoon, if you feel up to it, and help you get what you need."

She turned to go, but John stopped her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it.

"Thank you, Helen, for everything."

His touch was so warm, so soft, so familiar. She simply nodded, unable to find any words.

* * *

"So Jack the Ripper's moving in?" Kate asked her nose scrunched up like she'd smelled something bad.

Henry sighed. "His name is Druitt, John Druitt. You better start calling him that."

"Well, if he doesn't punch me in the face again next time I see him maybe I will," Kate said with more than a bit of bitterness. "Doc's a little sensitive about him, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Henry replied, "Just a tad."

"So what's the deal with those two?"

Henry sighed, again. "Kate, you know about as much as I do. Seriously."

"But she was like, engaged to him, right? Long time ago?"

"That's the story."

"Wonder if they'll hook up again? You know, now that he's not a psycho?"

"Kate..," Henry warned.

"I'm just saying! Sheesh. I mean, wouldn't it be weird?" she wondered.

Weird's a word for it, Henry thought. Definitely a word for it.

* * *

"Helen?"

Magnus looked up from her computer screen and saw John, black slacks, blue shirt, dark blazer hovering in her doorway.

"May I come in?" he asked, his voice calm and clear.

"Of course," she said, rising to greet him.

He walked into her office, his long strides taking him across the room before she could round her desk and meet him. He fingered the lapel of his new jacket.

"You're Mr. Foss did an excellent job of assisting me in acquiring a new wardrobe. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I'm most appreciative and will pay you back once the opportunity arises. I may not have a home, but I do have funds that I have…acquired over the years. I only need to access them," John said.

Helen shook her head, noticing how handsome he looked standing there. He was tall and fit. He always chose and wore clothes well. "John, there's no need…," she started.

"No, Helen, I insist," he interrupted her, putting his hands up. "You've done far more for me than any man could ask, or, in my case, deserve."

"John…"

"Helen," he said, smiling. The way he said her name, gazed at her, sent an unexpected rush of warmth through her. "The least I can do is purchase my own clothes. And I hope, perhaps, later, a bit more?" he finished.

"A bit more?" she asked.

"I feel well, Helen. Free, at peace. But I also feel…." He wasn't sure how to describe it. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her, so he softened it. "Useless, shall we say, unfulfilled. There must be something I can do to assist you while I remain here?"

It was so like John. He wasn't a man who accepted charity. He had too much pride. He had to earn his own way. When they had been engaged, her father had offered to pay for a small flat for them so they could go ahead and be married. (She always suspected her father knew she and John were sleeping together and wanted them to be legally done with the deed before a child came of it.) But John would have none of it. He wouldn't marry until he had earned the money to purchase a home himself, and he wouldn't let Helen contribute to that effort. Despite his enduring support of her, her education, her work, in some ways he was very old fashion.

"All right. We could always use an extra hand. I'll think about where best to put you. Until then, I want you take the week and rest. Simply rest, John. Take advantage of the library if you wish, our facilities, but don't push yourself. Please."

She didn't understand. He needed to push himself, felt bereft without it. Ah, well, she was the doctor. He would abide by her wishes.

"Very well, Helen," he turned to go but stopped. "I know you're busy," he said, scanning her desk, "But when you have a moment, I'd like very much to talk with you. Simply converse for awhile."

Her whole body visibly stiffened, anxiety washing over her. Talk. They had fought, screamed, worked together when necessary, and bickered. But talk? That they hadn't done in over a century.

"Certainly," she said. "Unfortunately, I'm busy right now with a project, but as soon as I'm free…" she trailed off.

He nodded at her, "Of course. I know you have other obligations." She was putting him off, he knew it. He could see the anxiety in her eyes, could feel it. And why shouldn't she be fearful, anxious? After all he had been and done, did he expect her to fall at his feet? He needed to earn her trust. And that he would do. And perhaps with it, because of it, one day, he could once again earn her love.

* * *

The screaming woke her. She was making love to John, the snow falling outside their window. She was on top of him, her blonde curls falling around her shoulders, her breasts. She was moving above him, sliding up and down him slowly, leisurely. He stopped her, sitting up to suckle her breasts, holding her, sending shivers up her spine, her arms. Then he laid back and moved with her, letting her set the rhythm, smiling at her, encouraging her, watching her as her climax built. She closed her eyes and began to lose herself. She started to scream….

Magnus shot out of bed, dripping with sweat. She'd had the dream again. She'd had it the entire week John had been there. And she'd woken every night breathless, sweating, coming in her sleep.

But tonight, the screaming wouldn't end. It still rang in her ears. She shook her head to wake herself, but it continued. Finally, she recognized it wasn't her that was screaming. It was John. And it was real.

She flew out of her bed and ran upstairs to his room, not bothering to grab her robe. She could hear the screaming from behind his door. She threw it open and saw him sitting up, chest bare, screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes wide open.

She ran to him, jumped on his bed, and shook him, trying to wake him from his nightmare.

"John!" she yelled. "John! Wake up! John!" She took his arms and shook him again. The Big Guy and Will came in behind her, standing in the doorway, watching.

"John! John!"

Suddenly he woke and looked at her, his body drenched with sweat, his eyes full of grief.

"Helen," he said, finally recognizing her, his voice choked. "I killed her. My God, I killed her!" He threw his arms around her, grasping her so tight she could barely breathe. He began to cry, quietly at first, then in massive, heaving sobs. As long as she'd known him, as John or as Jack, she'd never seen him cry.

"It's all right," she said, smoothing his neck, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him as she had done so many times when Ashley was a child and night terrors overtook her. "It's all right. It wasn't you. It wasn't you, John." She said it over and over to him, her arms holding him tight, rocking him.

He wouldn't stop crying. Clinging to her, sobbing into her arms.

She turned and looked at Will, pleading with him for help.

Will could see it in Magnus's eyes as she embraced Druitt. Holding him, comforting him, soothing him, trying to put his darkness to rest. Her tears now mixing with his.

Removing John's demon had been the easy part. Bringing him back from hell, that might prove impossible.

END


End file.
